


Sometimes

by onebatch2batch



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 13:58:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12960825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebatch2batch/pseuds/onebatch2batch
Summary: She wonders what he looks like with sleep crusting his eyes and hair sticking up at all angles.In which Karen and Frank aren’t quite domestic–yet.





	Sometimes

There’s something about learning Frank’s little nuances and characteristics that gives Karen Page a warm feeling deep in her belly. She knows that Frank has friends, he mentions them to her sometimes, but it gives her a secret thrill to think she’s part of a select group that knows how he likes his eggs, or which boot he puts on first.

For example, she knows that he likes his coffee black and strong, has known that since their first meeting in that diner not too long ago. She knows he always triple checks the windows and locks before he can finally lay down and relax. She knows he’s a talented cook with a wide palette, a fact that especially surprised her.

She’s found that he loves reading and tends to gravitate towards the classics and books on psychology. Sometimes when he’s cleaning his guns he puts on blues music and hums to it under his breath.

Sometimes she’ll come home from work and he’ll be there already, boots beside the door and tv switched on to the discovery channel. On these days he’s usually dressed in jeans and a soft tshirt. He’ll greet her with a lazy smile, beer in hand, beckoning for her to join him and tucking her under his arm while she orders take out.

It’s new, this thing that they have, and they’re taking baby steps. Karen is happy to let him take it at his own pace while she learns as much as she can about him. She owes that to him, to let him show her how much he can handle.

He hasn’t kissed her yet. Sometimes she thinks he’s thinking about it, when he looks at her with an expression that she can’t explain. Something between fondness and hesitation. A little shadow behind his eyes. His trigger finger tapping away on his thigh. She doesn’t push, just gives him an easy smile and waits it out, watches with a twinge of disappointment when he eventually looks away.

Sometimes he stays the night, and sometimes she can convince him to sleep in her bed with her instead of the couch. She doesn’t want to scare him away so she lays on her side and watches him watch her, feels his fingers trace soft patterns on her arm.

Sometimes she’ll wake in the middle of the night to his even, soft breath on her neck and arm draped over her hip. She’ll smile and press against him before falling easily back into sleep. He never sleeps in, and he’s always showered and waiting for her when she manages to crawl out of bed in the morning. 

She wonders what he looks like with sleep crusting his eyes and hair sticking up at all angles.

She finds out one Saturday morning. The night before he had stumbled in the apartment, eyelids drooping before he even crossed the threshold. She managed to get him cleaned up and had him patched up before pushing him gently to the bed. He was asleep in moments, and she found herself watching him sleep, worrying her bottom lip. There was no external damage other than some scrapes and fresh bruises, but his clothes had been covered in blood. She cleaned them as best as she could while he slept and triple checked the locks before she crawled into bed next to him.

Karen wakes the next day and is surprised to see Frank laying beside her. She stills, tracing her gaze over the stubble on his jaw, the smoothness of his brow. It’s early in the morning, and the sunlight is creeping over his skin, and she can’t believe that he’s here with her, can’t believe that he’s here and trusts her explicitly, even after everything he’s been through. Karen reaches over and smooths her thumb over his cheekbone, feeling the emotion swelling up and choking her.

It’s so hard for her to comprehend that this man, who has been tortured, who has been through hell and back, who has taken numerous bullets on her behalf, can also be a man who loves watching educational programs on the television, who loves dogs and makes her coffee in the mornings, who sleeps next to her without fear of betrayal. Her heart aches for him, for the man he could have been, and the man he is now. Karen is gripped with emotion, and she sits up, wiping the sudden tears out of her eyes.

The bed shifts next to her. “Kar’n?” Comes Frank’s blissfully sleepy voice, just a low rumble that she feels echoing in her chest. She sniffles and reaches over, running her fingers through his mussed hair. He frowns at her watery smile, gently touching her wrist. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just—…it’s nice, to see you like this.”

Frank rubs a hand over his face, raising his eyebrow minutely. “Like what?”

She bites her lip, hesitating. “…like you’re not thinking about the next fight.”

Frank props himself up on his elbow, looking at her quietly. He’s got that same look on his face that she sees so often, like he’s dissecting every conversation they’ve ever had and is gluing it all back together in his head. Karen can’t bear the thought of him looking away again, can’t put on a face strong enough to keep up this game of pretending not to care. She wants to take it at his pace but some days, today more than others, all she wants to do is hold him in her arms and not let go. Karen looks away before he can and goes to stand, planning on showering and letting him go back to sleep.

Frank’s fingers encircle her wrist again, stopping her. He tugs slightly and she looks down at his soft, determined expression. “I don’t think about those things when I’m with you,” he says softly.

Karen searches his eyes, watching the decision form on his face. He slips a hand behind her head, cradles her neck, brings her down to him. His lips meet hers without preamble, opening up to her. He’s half-sitting, half-laying, sheets pooled around his waist. The sun beats on Karen’s back through the blinds, and she knows that this changes everything.

This time, she makes his coffee. Just the way he likes.


End file.
